Eternal Sin (Primal Sin #2) - Ariana Nash

Chapter 1

Severn

He dreamed of kisses on a London rooftop. He dreamed of soft, black feathers shielding him from the rain. And he dreamed of falling in love with his enemy.

When he wasn’t dreaming, pain ebbed and flowed, dragging his consciousness with it. He’d stopped feeling each cut long ago; now they were all one and the same. It hurt to breathe, to talk, to live.

He’d told them to stop, told them it was useless. He’d told them as they’d cut and cursed and tried to slice the illusion from his body. They did not listen.

Konstantin, Lost Lord of the Red Manor, had believed his own lies and made himself angel. It was impossible. But so was a demon falling in love with an angel.

Destiny had forsaken him.

If only his body would stop healing, so the pain would end.

And then it did end. But he’d been here before, forced back to consciousness by a break in the agony, and the pain always began again.

He blinked back into the moment, hearing his breaths, his heart desperately thumping, healing. The demons who did this to him—they were all gone, but they’d be back. Demons he knew. Demons of Red Manor who had once followed him. And the worst of it was, he knew why they hurt him. They’d bled for Konstantin, knelt to him, they’d die for him. And they’d do all that again to save him from himself, even if it meant breaking him into pieces before putting him back together.

Severn closed his eyes. A single, cool tear fell. He’d cried so many, this one had to be the last. He pulled his right arm, yanking the leather cuff holding him down. It didn’t give. He hadn’t expected it to. The restraints hadn’t given an inch when he’d first been tied up, when he was stronger. Now, he was barely clinging to the pieces of himself.

A door rattled and swung open.

The demon who approached was the same one he’d seen in different dreams, older dreams—Konstantin’s dreams. He still wasn’t convinced the demon was real. Tawny skin radiated warmth and dazzling, golden eyes, the kind that arrested, shone. The demon wore a startling normal-looking pair of black trousers and a snug-fitting V-neck top. His wings were illusioned away, or they’d have filled the small room. Two horns curved like half-moons from his messy hairline. He didn’t look over and instead pulled up a chair to the side of the table Severn was tied on. Then he sat and sighed.

Severn blinked at the ceiling. The demon wasn’t here. His broken mind had dreamed him up.

“You gotta let go of the illusion,” Samiel said.

He sounded real. Sounded like he’d lived in London his whole life. Severn remembered his laugh more than anything else. He’d loved to laugh. He’d laughed right up until the day he’d died, ten years ago.

Laughter tried to bubble out of Severn now. He swallowed it.

Another sigh. “Stantin, we’re trying to help you.”

Laughter choked him. Or maybe it was a sob. He couldn’t tell. He turned his face away, afraid looking at Samiel might make him vanish. “Then let me go.”

“We can’t do that.”

A warm, soft hand settled over Severn’s. So real.

Samiel came and talked sometimes, but then he went away again, and the pain started. Severn didn’t ask if his friend really survived all this time, fearing speaking it would vanish his ghost. So Samiel talked, filling the silence with updates on how Mikhail was tearing through demon forces, capturing and torturing demons. How he’d placed demon heads on spikes and lined them up along the killing fields. He spoke of how the demons didn’t know Konstantin was alive. Rumors of his return had been quashed. Nobody knew he was in this little windowless room, having his skin cut from his bones over and over to make him less angel.

The warm hand traveled to Severn’s damp thigh. He’d healed enough from the last round that his skin was smooth again. He healed like a fucking angel.

“We need to know you’re still in there,” Samiel said, and then whispered, “Konstantin.”

The reverence in his name brought more useless tears to Severn’s eyes. “Look at me! Fucking look, Sam!” He yanked at the restraints.

The door opened, and the demons were back, knives gleaming. Severn yanked again on the restraints, tried to thrash from the table, but it never worked. Hands held him down, a rod was forced between his teeth, and the blades dug in, carving flesh from bone.

The next time he came around, only